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1.7.3-Kingedmundsroyalmurder
Brick!club chapter 3: Agony! Irrelevant musical references aside, we have here another chapter about the inner workings of Valjean’s mind. Let’s do this! So we begin with Hugo acknowledging that Madeleine is (was?) indeed Valjean, which is nice of him. I like the sudden return of the narrator as a character in these past couple chapters. We also get an extended meditation on the difficulties and complexities of the human soul, nearly all of which I highlighted because if there’s anything I love talking/thinking/reading about it’s how human consciousness works. (I’m also reminded if the bit in IM3 where the hologram of the universe and the brain are super similar.) But this bit serves a dual purpose I think. It’s there to be pretty and philosophical and also to let us know that the rest of this chapter is going to be a bumpy ride. Which indeed it is. Also, quick note, the Dante reference at the end of this bit is intriguing. Is Hugo implying that delving into Valjean’s mind is like delving into the depths of Hell? That is decidedly ominous. He says that there is nothing we don’t know between the Petit-Gervais incident and Valjean’s arrival in M-sur-M. I disagree. I want to know where he got his skills, dammit. (Also his false passport.) Nitpicky digressions aside, I really like this sentence: “Ce fut plus qu’une transformation, ce fut une transfiguration.” (It was more than a transformation, it was a transfiguration.) I like the subtle difference in meaning of those two words, and it holds all the more weight when coupled with the part later on where Valjean literally talks about his new soul. It’s also interesting because, transfiguration or not, he has not completely left Jean Valjean behind (and actually there are bits of Jean Valjean he could stand to have kept, but we’ll get back to that). He still thinks of hiding his name just as highly as he does saving his soul, which no doubt the Bishop wouldn’t approve of. Then again, the Bishop did lie to the police for him, so maybe he’d be fine with it so long as Valjean was Doing Good with his new life, which indeed he is. But anyway. I like how we establish here that he sees his duty as being primarily towards other people but for most of this chapter he’s still thinking selfishly. It’s a masterfully done piece of characterization; the things we consider our ideals don’t always match up with our actual thoughts and actions and sometimes we’re not even aware of the disconnect until it’s brought brutally to our attention. For instance! His first thought is to go turn himself in immediately, which is an admirable first reaction. His second thought, pretty much immediately following the first, is to hold the fuck up and not throw his life away for nothing. As Hugo says, “Il réprima ce premier mouvement généreux et recula devant l’héroïsme.” (He supressed this first generous thought and backed away from heroism.) It’s pretty much here that he starts thinking up excuses. (It’s also here that Hugo pauses to go, “yep, it would be nice if he’d just been made saintly and automatically willing to give himself up, but that’s not how people work, sorry.) I didn’t go back and double check, because it’s late and I’m tired, but I’m pretty sure that his state of forced, almost aggressive calm for the rest of the day is pretty close to what the Bishop was doing after he witnessed the execution. We weren’t in the Bishop’s head for that, I don’t think, but he was clearly in inner turmoil and outer serenity. So Valjean’s conscience is literally God. I feel like we’ve had another reference to conscience being literally God, but I can’t remember where and at this point I have so many highlights and footnotes in this book that they’re completely unhelpful for actually finding things. But in this instance it certainly fits, what with Valjean being directly compared to Jesus twice. "Est-il bien vrai que j’aie vu ce Javert et qu’il m’ait parlé ainsi?" (Is it really true that I saw Javert and that he spoke to me so?) I don’t think this is anything but the rambling monologue of a desperate man locked in struggle with himself, but it’s interesting to look at this within the context of his earlier apparent dissociation. He potentially has reason not to trust his senses during moments of great stress, making this a valid question to ask. There are no stars in the sky. This being Hugo I assume this is deeply important and symbolic, though the only thing I’m coming up with are a potential lack of guidance/clarity (as contrasted to the Bishop looking up at the stars in his garden and meditating). So he begins by realizing that the situation is his to control. This stands out for a couple reasons: first off, it just makes things all that much worse and, as we’ll see, he spends a good half of the chapter trying to fob responsibility off on other people, mostly God. It also really clearly parallels his thought process in the first Jean Valjean meditation chapter, where he breaks things down into steps and builds on carefully constructed truths and assumptions. There, he begins by admitting that he is guilty. Here, he begins by admitting that he is responsible. His thought processes has grown more sophisticated (and also potentially less painfully deliberate) and he has grown more aware, but the basic structure is the same. More dramatic shadows and chasms imagery, calling back to his first epiphany chapter and then the first of the Christ comparisons. “Au bout de peu d’instants, il eut beau faire, il reprit ce sombre dialogue dans lequel c’était lui qui parlait et lui qui écoutait, disant ce qu’il eût voulu taire, écoutant ce qu’il n’eût pas voulu entendre, cédant à cette puissance mystérieuse qui lui disait: pense! comme elle disait il y a deux mille ans à un autre condamné, marche!” (After a few instants, despite his best efforts, he once again took up the somber dialogue wherein it was he who spoke and he who listened, saying what he would rather keep silent, listening to what he would rather not here, giving in to that mysterious force that told him: think! like it said two thousand years ago to that other condemned man: walk!) Though actually now that I think about it it wasn’t quite 2000 years ago at this point. Is there someone else that that line refers to? So now we have the pendulum swinging back towards turning himself in, with a focus on how it will save his soul. This is when he starts thinking about Champmathieu again and how terrible it would be to send him to prison for something he did not do. This is something Valjean will forget again later and it will annoy me. We’ll get there. The Bishop basically appears to him in a hallucination/waking dream/overactive imagination sequence, and I am seriously curious as to what the real Bishop would have said. Probably turn yourself in, but you never know. (The real Bishop would have gone to get Cosette for him, which would have relieved at least a few of his concerns. And also probably gone with him to Arras.) So we have the first version of the line that in the musical becomes “If I speak/I am condemned/If I stay silent/I am damned” and in the book is variations on the theme of “is it better to live as a devil in paradise or an angel in hell?” At last his two driving ambitions are working against each other and he basically watches it play out in real time. It’s kind of a cool sequence, actually, though it sounds utterly terrifying to witness in real time, especially since I’m not quite sure how much he views it as literally happening in front of him instead of serving as a metaphor. "On le croit voleur, parce qu’on le sait forçat." (He is thought a thief because he is known to be a convict.) I feel like that’s a fairly powerful and damning critique of the justice system right there. "À remuer tant d’idées lugubres, son courage ne défaillait pas, mais son cerveau se fatiguait." (After turning over so many bleak ideas, his courage did not fail him, but his brain grew tired.) I can so, so relate to that. After a certain point your brain just stops. And now begins the second part of his agonized meditation, wherein he remembers that “i am the master of hundreds of workers/they all look to me.” (Sorry. It’s just that the song is such a good translation of this whole thing, minus the condemning Champmathieu bits, and it’s also one of my favorite songs in the show. I’ll stop now.) In particular he remembers Fantine and the promises he made. He also seems to think that the entire economy of the city and surrounding area will collapse if he’s gone, which appears to be true and seems to be an unwise way to structure an economy. He also seems to think that he can eradicate all badness ever if he just stays put, which seems a touch optimistic. We also get this bit, which I’ve been referencing this whole time: “pour sauver d’une punition peut-être un peu exagérée, mais juste au fond, on ne sait qui, un voleur … Et tout ça pour ce vieux gredin de voleur de pommes qui, à coup sûr, a mérité les galères pour autre chose, si ce n’est pour cela!” (to save a thief from a punishment, perhaps slightly exaggerated, but justified in the end … And all that for an old rogue of an apple thief who, without a doubt, has earned the galleys for something else, if not for that.) Remember how back when he was imprisoned he railed against the society that had put him there because it was so patently unfair? He is now embodying the very society that he hated. He has become the oppressor he so despised. And yes, he snaps out of it, but still. It bothers me. (It’s also potentially a comment on the cyclical nature of oppression, with those who have made it up from the bottom being more likely to trample on those who are still there instead of helping them up too.) So he burns his old clothes and is just about to burn the candlesticks when suddenly a voice from outside of himself speaks. Given that we’ve already been told that God is his conscience I’m going to amuse myself by assuming that this is literally God lecturing him. He is abruptly reminded that Champmathieu does not, actually, deserve that punishment and that he is terrible for thinking that he did. I’m not going to quote the entire bit where he’s reflecting on all that he would lose and all that he would have to suffer, but I like that it’s focused on little things much more than big ones. He’d miss the sunshine and the coffee (and, yes, the love and respect) and he’d have to deal with taunts and iron shoes and exhaustion. It’s a good bit. I like it. And we end with a comparison that is absolutely definitely to Jesus, which I assume makes it perfectly clear which option he will end up choosing in the end.